11. Emory
EMORY
The tattooed man shoves me into the backseat, and the door slams shut before I can twist around to find Lex.
I hear him screaming and I pound on the window with both fists.
"Give me my son!" My hands hurt and they tremble in terror as I whip around to see the second man climbing in the other side, holding Lex.
The doors lock as soon as he shuts his, and he shoves Lex into my arms.
Lex is thrashing, his little face red and soaked with tears, and I pull him against my chest hastily. "It's okay, baby. Mama's here. Shhh, it's okay." I cup the back of his head and rock him until the screams drop to hiccupping sobs.
I don't even have to ask who these men are.
I recognize their hideous tattoos and know they work for the man who controls my father.
"Shut him up," the driver says without turning around.
The tattooed man lights a cigarette and cracks the window before I can even protest.
He watches us as I pull Lex's hood tighter, tuck his face into the crook of my neck, and keep rocking him. "Hey, shhh," I soothe, but it doesn't seem to be working. He's hysterical, and after that I am too. He cries softer though, which seems to at least not annoy the ugly tattooed man so much.
When we turn onto a street I recognize, my stomach drops.
They know where I live.
Batya swears the Gusevs know nothing, but this proves they do.
They have probably always known where we live and they've just been biding their time, waiting for a reason to need to come to our home, which Batya has told me on countless occasions would mean the death of us all.
The driver pulls up to our building.
The tattooed man yanks my door open and grabs my arm hard. I stumble out sideways with Lex still clutched against me, but I manage to keep my feet under me.
But then the second man comes around, not even shy about the weapon in his hand, and jams it into my back.
“Walk, inside. Now."
"You can't do this," I hiss, clutching my boy hard. "You don't own us." I sound brave, but inside I'm trembling. Right out of the frying pan, as they say, and into the fryer.
I wonder what Rashid would say about this if he saw the way they're treating me.
My mind absently goes to the necklace in my pocket and I think about bribing them to go away.
The thing is probably worth thousands.
But it could also be our way out—if we survive this.
We move up the sidewalk with the gun between my shoulder blades.
We're only a few strides away from the door when I trip, and the tattooed man shoves me forward mercilessly.
Lex whimpers and clings to me but he's thankfully stopped his crying.
Who knows how scared he is if he can sense I'm scared too.
I stop by the door and fish in my pocket past the necklace for the key, as the men hover around me with their weapons brandished and glares on their faces. "Hurry up," the driver growls, "we don’t have all fucking day."
"I can't even hold my hands still because you're scaring me. Back off so I can think." Living in this world has given me an edge. Something this drastic has never happened before, but Batya has taught me to stand up for myself.
At my bark the men give me a little more space, and I'm able to get the key in the lock and push the door open, but Batya isn't here.
His chair is pushed back from the table and his bottle is there, half full, cap off. But his coat is gone from the hook by the door.
"Where is he?" the tattooed man asks as they force me in.
I stumble forward, still clutching Lex, but now I'm feeling frantic.
Batya is my safe space, and if he's not here, who's going to protect me from these sick bastards?
"I don't know. He was here when I left this morning. I swear I don't?—"
He sweeps everything off the kitchen counter with one arm. Dishes shatter on the tile and Lex screams again.
I turn away, curling my body around my boy as the tattooed man grabs my shoulder and spins me back. "Look at me. Where did he go?"
"He doesn't tell me things." I'm trembling, shaking so bad I think I may drop Lex. "He's a grown adult. When I'm out he does what he wants." I back away, putting space between me and the men, but my gut is churning. They could kill me right now and no one would ever know who did it.
"She's lying," the second man says from up the hallway in Batya's bedroom. He's already pulling drawers out of the dresser and dumping them on the floor.
"I'm not lying. I've been gone. How am I supposed to know where he is?
" I'm talking too fast. It makes me look guilty, but I can't stop.
"Please, just leave. I don't know what you came for but I can't give you anything.
We have nothing." The less they know about me and what I know about them the better.
"Search it," the tattooed one says, jerking his chin. "All of it."
The men start destroying the house. They rip open the couch cushions and smash holes in the walls, then turn out the kitchen cupboards and drawers.
When they are finished looking everywhere there’s not a speck of floor visible.
It's all a wreckage of their search, and I’m left cowering in the corner with a sobbing infant.
"Your father's a very stupid man," the tattooed one says. He picks up Batya's bottle and reads the label, then sets it back down. "Cheap vodka, cheap apartment, cheap life. And he thinks he can steal from Gusev."
I unzip Lex's snowsuit and pull it down, kissing his round cheeks that are hot with sweat from his fit, and try to soothe him. I can't focus and my brain feels like danger is going to consume me at any second. "Hey, sweet boy," I whisper. "Mommy's here... shhh."
When they return from trashing our bedrooms, one of them has a small satchel that I know Batya keeps for emergencies.
The man unzips it and dumps the contents on the kitchen table.
Stacks of bills scatter across the surface along with three passports and a folded map—the new identities Batya paid for with the money he stole from these people.
He fans through the cash and stuffs everything back into the bag, then zips it shut.
He slings it over his shoulder like he owns it, and I know my chance of getting out of this town and away from the mess my father's made is gone. "You tell your father, I want every penny he stole from Mr. Gusev or the three of you die. He has one week."
I'm trembling so badly I can't even speak. I have to lean on the wall to support my legs so I don't collapse. The man puts a phone on the table and taps it. "Tell him to call the number programmed here, and tell him not to be late. We won't be so nice next time."
I shudder as they turn to walk out, and stand there for a second trying to process what just happened and make my brain work.
They’ve left, but the damage is done.
The apartment is nothing more than broken, destroyed furniture, no longer safe for Lex to play, and I'm a nervous wreck.
It almost makes me wish I'd accepted a ride from Rashid.
Though if he finds out about Lex he's not likely to have much better of a reaction.
I strip Lex out of his snowsuit and carry him to my room, where I lay him in his crib and tuck his blanket around him.
He has fussed so hysterically for so long he's cried himself to sleep, and his chest shudders with a shaky breath.
I hate that he had to endure this, and I'm angry with my father for letting something like this happen.
I stalk back out to the living room and survey the mess. I can't even find a safe place to walk, let alone sit and process what just happened.
I'm picking up broken dishes when Batya crashes in, wild-eyed and soaked through with water dripping from his beard.
He sees the destruction and leans hard on the doorjamb like he's shocked, but I know he's just wasted again.
"Emory?" he asks at barely a whisper. "Are you hurt? Where's the boy?" His eyes are wild, pupils dilated. He might be on something else too, not just booze.
"They were here, Batya." I drop the broken ceramic into the bin and turn to face him.
"Gusev's men grabbed me outside Irina's building and put a gun to my back in front of my son.
" I'm so angry, mostly because being scared has passed, and someone has to answer for how dangerous my life has gotten.
"Why did they come after us? How do they know where we live!
" I shouldn't raise my voice at him when I know I've made mistakes too, but so far my mistakes haven't brought death and destruction to our front door.
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
"They took the bag, Batya. The cash and the new passports are gone. Do you understand?"
"No." He pushes off the doorframe and stumbles toward the hallway. "No, no, no—" He disappears into his bedroom and I hear him tearing through things, throwing things around.
A drawer slams, then another.
He comes back with his hands grabbing his head and tears in his eyes.
"It's gone," I tell him. "They said you have one week to give back what you stole or they kill all three of us."
He sinks into the chair and covers his face with both hands, letting out a groan from deep in his chest. It's the posture of a defeated man. "I was trying to protect us, Em. I was trying to get us out?—"
"By stealing from the Gusevs?" I slam my palm on the table. The bottle jumps and so does Batya. I'm defending my son now, and all my fear is coming out as rage. "My son had a gun pointed at him tonight. He's two and a half years old, Batya."
He drops his hands and looks at me with red-rimmed eyes; they're so bloodshot the whites have gone yellow from the drinking. "I don't have it, Emory. The money is gone."
I sink to the couch, shaking my head. This can't be happening. Those men will come back and they aren't going to be patient with us. "What do you mean you don't have it? You said you were saving it for our escape. Where did it go?"
He reaches for the bottle and takes a swig, as if that's going to help him. "I was trying to double it so we'd have enough for all three of us, but the games went bad."
"Gambling?" I hiss angrily. "You gambled the money away?"
"Most of it," he says as his shoulders sag. "There might be a little left with a friend, but it's not enough to keep them off our backs."
"What you stole, you mean!" I catch myself as he wilts a little more and press my palms over my eyes. Regardless of how we got into this mess, he is the only way out. We have to get that money back and give it to those men. "Then give back what you can. Call that number and tell them?—"
"Giving back scraps will just insult them, Emory. They want all of it."
"Then borrow it. Beg for it. I don't care how you get it." I shoot off the seat and spin around, tripping on some boxes that were in the cupboard and now lay strewn on the floor.
Batya sets the bottle down and leans back on the couch, looking defeated. "I'm going to fix this," he says. But he has no way to fix this at all. If the money is gone there's no way to keep those men off our backs. The only thing we can do is run now, and hope they don't find us.
And he's so drunk I can't reason with him either.
I stalk into the kitchen picking up broken dishes and slamming them into the bin as loudly as I can, just to prove how angry I am.
The only option I have left is to go to the school and cancel all the classes I paid for, and hope they give my money back.
It won't be enough money to pay those men back but it could be enough money to buy the three of us train tickets out of town.
I don't want to do it, but I don't have a choice now.
My life here in St Petersburg is over anyway, and it's just a matter of time before Rashid returns and wants more from me than a quickie in his backseat.
Running is the only option I have.
I just have to hope the school will refund my money soon.